Mean Tucker- the Bully

by Edwina Fort

  But since the Endurance Clinic is not a rehab, but a psychiatric office, Medicaid refuses to cover it. It’s a damn shame! This city would rather invest in prisons and jails than helping the people overcome Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, a study done by one of my role models and a woman whose astounding work has helped me to stay the course and continue to fight the good fight, Dr. Joy DeGruy.

  Oh guys, if you haven’t listened to Dr. Joy speak, you are missing out. Go to YouTube and check out one of her lectures on Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, you will not regret it. It will shed light on so many things.

  Anyway, I digress… Needless to say, funding has been one of my biggest struggles. There are a few grants we can obtain, but not nearly enough for me to keep the lights on, let alone pay the other two doctors that I have on staff what they truly deserve. And the truth is, without Angie’s monthly donations, I wouldn’t be able to pay them much of anything.

  So yeah, the fact that she was saying she had a check for us would get me to cancel my eight-thirty appointment. The bonus is that for the first time, I didn’t have to go to her and beg for the check, she’d actually called me and offered it. It must be my lucky day.

  The other thing that caught my attention was that she said one of the twins and Dillion had news to share with everyone. I smiled, did that crazy man enlist one of my sisters to help him pull off this proposal? Awww! Shucks! How romantic… I went to bed with that smile still on my face.

  The next morning, I woke up and took extra care getting ready for work. It took me nearly an hour to flat iron my hair each day, and I was thinking strongly of just chopping it all off. When I was a girl, I wore it long and thick in its natural state, because it reminded me of my mom. Now that I’m a woman, who understands life a little better, I try to do things completely opposite of my mother.

  And although I haven’t quite gotten my nerves up enough to cut my hair or perm it for that matter, I made sure to flat iron it every day, so that I could pull it all back into a nice sensible bun. That was me, Sensible Free.

  Instead of putting on my brown tweed skirt suit that I normally wore on Mondays, I put on the navy blue one. It was a special occasion after all. It wasn’t every day that the love of my life proposed to me. I partnered that up with my silk blouse with the navy-blue flowers. This one tied at my throat, giving me a nice flirty look. And instead of going for my black flats, I decided to be daring and wear my black penny loafers with the two-inch heels.

  By the time I got to my old house, I was practically percolating with excitement. However, when I walked through the door, my steps came to a halt when I saw Laureen and Dillion sitting on the couch extremely close together, holding hands.

  Angie was leaning over the arm of the couch next to her, holding Laureen’s other hand in the air so that she could get a better look at the ring on her daughter’s finger. The diamond on it caught the morning sunlight just right to cause momentary blindness.

  Can you guys guess what ring she had on her finger? If you guessed the ring I’d seen in Dillion’s drawer the other night you would be right. But what I couldn’t figure out was why the hell she had his ring on her finger.

  And why the hell were they holding hands?!

  The smile was still on my face because I think that maybe I was in shock. “What’s going on, guys?” I asked, trying to wrap my mind around what I was seeing. Dillion had yet to make eye contact with me. Instead, he looked off somewhere past my head.

  “Don’t just stand there, Free, come and congratulate your sister,” Angie admonished me, turning Laureen’s hand so that I could see the ring better as if it was necessary. “Dillion proposed to her last night at dinner and she said yes! Isn’t that great?!”

  Have you guys ever been punched in the stomach really hard? You know that moment right after the punch, but right before your brain registers what happened. So, you’re just standing there for that split-second wondering why you can’t breathe. If you have, then you understand how I’m feeling at this moment.

  My gaze flew back to Dillion. Using a finger, he pushed his glasses back on his face while chewing on his jaw. I knew that move. He did this whenever his mother hissed her vile venom at me and he pretended he didn’t hear so that he wouldn’t have to say anything against his mommy dearest. The Snake!

  Okay, Free…

  Okay… I exhaled, blowing out the negative energy that was invading my body.

  This won’t cause me to fall. I have conquered so many obstacles. This is just another one to overcome. Looking like a black Paris Hilton, Layla sat in the high back Victorian-style chair in front of the fireplace, her cup of coffee was lifted halfway to her grinning mouth as she waited for my response.

  Laureen wore a look of triumph as she held her hand out so that I could get a better look at the ring. There was a mirroring look on Angie’s face. And Dillion…the coward still looked at the creepy mask over the front door that had been there ever since I was a little girl.

  My wicked ass stepmother and her two sniveling demonic daughters were waiting to see me break. They’ve been trying to break me since I first walked through this door at twelve, like forcing me to wear the twins’ hand-me-downs to school while they told everyone about it. Or making me wake up at the crack of dawn to make their breakfast and prepare their clothes for school.

  “It’s the least you could do”, Angie would say, seeing as to how I was freeloading off of them. She called it my way of giving back. Many days I cried in my bed downstairs, but never once in front of them and I wasn’t going to start now.

  I ran my hands down my blue tweed skirt, welcoming the scratchiness of the material against my palms. And then I put that smile back on my face.

  “Yes, congratulations!”

  The look of disappointment on Laureen’s face and the one of surprise on Dillion’s made it all worthwhile. “Have you guys set a date?”

  “Wow! Are you really not upset she took your ma—” Layla began, but her words came to a halt when Angie cut eyes at her.

  “Please, Layla, don’t be obtuse. This is your sister’s special day. We will not cry over spilled milk!”

  Keep that smile on your face, Free! Don’t you dare run across this floor and claw that crow’s eyes out. Come on, little sista, just hold on a little while longer. Get the check and then you’re free.

  You see what I mean? Beholden… Now I understand why she offered the check instead of waiting for me to come begging.

  My gaze went back to Dillion as Laureen went on and on about their wedding plans and how she wanted me to be one of her bridesmaids. The coward was still avoiding my eyes. He reached up and loosened his tie, chewing fiercely on his jaw. I know by now he was tasting blood.

  I'd always thought Dillion was handsome. No, he wasn't Mean Tuck handsome. He didn't have the strong jawline and muscled shoulders, that beautiful chocolate skin, or the confidence. Dear God, he didn’t have the confidence Mean Tuck had in just his baby finger. Dillion is cute in a gentleman kind of way, the kind of guy that was supposed to be safe, you know.

  But as I stand here and watch him cower behind my sister, I’ve realized something about him that has bugged me for a while, he has no testicular fortitude. At first, I thought I felt this way because Tuck had ruined me for other men and I was determined not to allow it. But now I know I felt this way because Dillion was the kind of coward that was okay with hiding behind a woman’s skirt.

  What a turn off…

  Laureen and the other Beautiful Ones picked on us all through high school. Was he really too blind to see that she was only interested in him because he was making a name for himself in the world of medicine?

  So many things were beginning to make sense. His and my schedules have always been very hectic, but we managed to make time for each other at least once a week. He would either spend the night at my place or me at his. But for the last three months, he’s been canceling on me, claiming he’s been called into work for some emergency or another.

&
nbsp; Because I’ve become like a mad hound trying to find funding for the clinic, I barely paid any attention to it, secretly appreciating the fact that he was not available because I’m always so tired and am never really in the mood to have sex with him.

  Until today, I’d been ashamed of that fact. The bitterness in me wanted to tell Laureen just what she was getting into with the mama’s boy. He blamed our lack of passion in the bedroom on me. But I knew it wasn't me because I'd had a passionate night before… very passionate.

  I looked at my watch. “Okay, sis, just keep me posted, I’m at your service. Angie, did you have that check for me?”

  When I finally made it back to my car, I sat there for a moment and waited for the tears to come. Frowning my face up a bit, I tried to force them out. Surely after a four-year relationship, there should be tears.

  I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. Please God, don’t let me be broken forever… Please don’t let my bully continue to win in my life!

  As many of you know, my bully took my virginity prom night. It was the most spectacular thing I’d ever experienced. His touch went on to plague my dreams for many years after that. I’d had a few boyfriends since then, but because they didn’t make me feel like he made me feel, the relationships never worked because in my mind, they were lacking that spark, you know.

  But then I realized I was sabotaging my relationships by comparing them to an oddity. Naphtali Tucker Pelletier is a freak of nature that should not exist on a planet with normal men. Why did he have to be the one to introduce me to passion? Now I was broken and felt passionless because no other man can compete.

  The few guys I’d dated in college never got past second base, just because I couldn’t stand the feel of their hands on me. Dillion had been the first to make it all the way and that was only because I was determined to take my life back from that infuriating man. But I don’t know what good that did. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I can admit that we didn’t get intimate nearly as much as Dillion wanted. I’ve faked a headache on more than one occasion.

  He thought it was because he’d taken my virginity and I was still getting used to having sex. Chuckling, I shook my head…poor fool.

  The sound of my phone ringing from my purse caused the grin to leave my face. There was something wrong with me. I should be crying, not laughing…goodness.

  “Dr. Roberson…” I said into the receiver as I turned the key starting the engine.

  “Free, oh my God, I need your help!” Oaklee’s frantic Texas drawl came from the other end.

  I exhaled. “What have you done now?”

  “It wasn’t me! It was that bastard cop, Ashur! I was minding my business when he came along and decided to arrest me for no reason!”

  There was what sounded like a scuffle. “Let me go, pig!” she yelled. “I’m going to press charges on you for harassment!”

  The phone dropped to the ground and I could hear Oaklee yelling for help at the top of her lungs.

  “Hello,” Jackson’s deep voice came from the other end.

  “Jackson? What is going on?” I cried as I headed toward the police station. I was so glad I was still in the area and had not headed back toward the city.

  He chuckled. “Doc, instead of having her work for you, you need to think about taking her on as a patient.”

  “Jackson Carr, are you trying to tell me how to do my job!” I hissed.

  He chuckled again. “No ma’am, I’m simply suggesting that you talk to your two friends and tell them they should think about making less waves in my town.”

  I clutched the steering wheel, wanting to curse. This bastard had some nerve. My two friends did nothing wrong but exist and he and his deputy, Ashur did all they could to make their lives hell. Jackson had been bullying Rachel since high school and Ashur had taken to bullying Oaklee when she moved to this town from Texas. They were the same tyrants they were back then, worse even…

  “Sheriff, one could argue that Oak has a point. Why is it that Deputy Ashur is always around whenever my friend finds herself going a smidge over the speed limit?”

  “First of all, let’s not pretend speeding is all that Oaklee’s into. She finds herself at the heart of every protest that happens in this area. Would you like to know where Officer Ashur found her this time?”

  Chewing my lip, I contemplated telling him no. That damn Oaklee! She told me she was done with the protest hopping.

  “Don’t worry, Doc, I'll tell you anyway. She and three other people were picketing outside of Oldman Potter’s hardware store, preventing customers from going in. Would you like to know why?”

  “Why?” I muttered, knowing I was going to regret asking that.

  “Because Mr. Potter doesn't carry any vegan paint. When Ashur brought the irate Ms. Oaklee in, I asked her if she is a vegan. Would you like to know what she told me?”

  “What?” I mumbled, sounding like a sulking child.

  “She said no, she’s not even a vegetarian. When I asked why the hell she was protesting, she said it was the principle of the matter. So, I repeat, instead of being your secretary, she should be a patient. How long before you get here?”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Damn it! Oaklee was not helping me. This was my fourth time picking her up from the police station this month. Jackson was not going to keep bending the rules for us and not charging her with anything. Why can’t the deputy just leave her alone? She rejected his advances and now he was torturing her. He’d given her several tickets since she moved to town and almost always seems to find a reason to haul her into the station.

  By the time I made it to the precinct I had a headache from trying to concentrate on the cleansing tears I knew I should be shedding. My evil stepsister had just stolen my boyfriend, surely there were some tears in there somewhere.

  And the fact that the station was overrun with single women did very little to ease the pounding between my temples. Mrs. Tiddle and her daughter, Martha nearly ran me down exiting as I entered.

  “Sorry, Free!” Martha muttered as she and her mother, who was clearly very angry stormed past me. When I finally made it through the door my mouth dropped. Every desperate housewife and their even more desperate daughters on this side of Lake Michigan had found a reason to be here. It was a madhouse.

  Poor Rasheeda, who manned the front desk for the sheriff looked like she was ready to go out of her mind. Talking to her was a woman I recognized from childhood but couldn’t remember her name. She was demanding an audience with the sheriff about her new neighbors whose son she suspected was breaking into her car.

  Now for the record, Jackson and his super cute deputy, Ashur did attract their fair share of women, what with both of them being this small town’s premier man flesh and all, but this was just ridiculous! I’d never seen it like this.

  “Oh my God! What is going on around here?” I asked Rasheeda when I finally made it to the front of the line.

  She exhaled and let her head drop on her shoulders. “Doc, just kill me now.”

  I chuckled reaching out to pat her shoulders. “Poor baby, your boss shouldn’t be such man candy. Is he and Ashur parading around town with their shirts off again?”

  The two of them and another one of their friends from high school, who was also one of the Beautiful Ones, signed up for the three-on-three basketball tournament to help raise funds for the Boys and Girls Club that wasn’t too far from where Rachel lived when she was younger. And they nearly caused a stampede when in the second quarter, the three of them took off their shirts. Word spread like wildfire. I got wind of it all the way at my clinic that was in the city.

  Rasheeda shook her head miserably. “Worse, Tucker’s back…”

  Three words…

  She uttered three little words that caused my world to shift and feel as if the ground had been pulled from under me.

  Chapter 2

  A Sight for Sore Eyes

  Didn’t know what I had
until I lost it. Didn’t know I was blessed until I got a second chance to hold it…

  --Edwina Fort

  Naphtali

  I removed the last box from the back of my truck before shutting the trunk behind me. The sound of Mobb Deep’s Survival of The Fittest blared through the speakers, causing the streets to rumble. A few kids farther down the beach danced to it. However, standing on the deck next to mine was the dickhead I assumed was my new neighbor. He stood with his frail arms folded in a way that I guess was supposed to be intimidating. Judging by the frown on his f*cked up face, he had a problem with not only my choice in music, but the level in which I chose to play it.

  “This is a peaceful neighborhood. Do you mind turning that-that… racket, down?!”

  I grinned, impressed the little pipsqueak had actually worked up enough courage to try and reprimand me. Slowly, I walked toward him. I think now is a good time to introduce myself to my new neighbor.

  The closer I got, the more my size became apparent to him. By the time I came to a stop in front of where he stood on his deck, his eyes had grown wide. You see, he was standing on a deck and I on the ground and he and I were looking at each other eye to eye; his eyes widened in fear, and mine frowned in anger.

  “I didn’t hear you from way back there. My music was too loud. Can you repeat what you said to me so that I can address it properly?” He swallowed as his gaze took me in fully. Afterward, a weak smile came to his face.

  “I was just saying, welcome to the neighborhood.”

  The grin returned to my face. “Oh…okay. I could have sworn you had something different to say.”

  He shook his head rapidly. “No, no…just welcoming you to the Beachfront.”

  I gave him one last look, giving the man a chance to speak his piece. Wisely, he chose to remain silent. Chuckling, I shook my head as I crossed the sand to my place. However, when I got inside, it was to see that my best friend Jackson, the bastard, had not moved from where he sat with his feet propped up on my kitchen table, reading the magazine I’d just grabbed from the gas station during my drive back from VA.